


His Madonna

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - FBI, Ending Relationship, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Murder, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is an FBI Special Agent working on a case they've dubbed the Madonna-Whore killer, his boyfriend, Bones is a forensic pathologist working with the CSI team assigned to the murders. Jim's been working on this case for six months... What will happen when he finally learns the killer's identity? And will it ever end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sladeninstitute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sladeninstitute/gifts).



_gratia plena,_   
_Dominus tecum,_   
_benedicta tu_

…

“There’s another body, Kirk.” Pike says grimly. “It’s him again.”

“Call Bones, I’ll meet him down at the scene.” Jim sighs, picking up his badge and his jacket and heading out of the office, taking the newest file from Pike and grimacing when he opens it. It’s definitely their guy, the victim is a pretty woman, cause of death was asphyxiation by strangulation and there is an upturned cross carved in between her breasts.

This has been going on for the last six months, regular as clock work, there is nothing that links the women apart from their beauty and their intelligence, every victim has been at the top of her field in one way or another.

Jocelyn Darnell was the first, a leading psychotherapist from Georgia. She was in San Francisco for a conference and she never made it home. It happened on the night of the forth of August. She was found in an abandoned warehouse in North Beach – the place was spotless.

A month later, Christine Chapel was found dead in a warehouse on the edge of the Sunset District, laid out on a stainless steel table, just like Jocelyn. She was the head lecturer at John Hopkins School of Nursing, only in town on a weekend to look at wedding dresses.

And there they had their serial killer, same method, same approach, same woman, more or less, even down to the fact that both the victims were engaged.

The third body turned up on a stainless steel table in a warehouse just outside of the Castro. Nyota Uhura, Chairwoman of Foreign Relations in the US Senate Committee, engaged to a diplomat from the Middle East only in San Francisco for a weekend.

On November 4th Valentino Model, Janice Rand, was strangled and laid out on a steel table in Diamond Heights. Only in San Francisco for her bachelorette party. But the crime scene was left without a trace of anyone else. Not a stray fibre, not a drip of any fluid, no sign of a struggle.

This man was a man every woman thought they could trust.

And he tore them apart for it.

The fifth victim hit close to home for Jim. Sam had brought the family up from Iowa for the weekend, Jim and Bones were going to watch the kids so the soon-to-be newlyweds could have a romantic night out. But when Jim had woken up the next morning, Bones curled into him; it was to a frantic call from Pike. Sam’s world had come crushing down around him and Aurelian’s body was left cold on a steel table in an abandoned warehouse just South of Mission Bay.

Aurelian was different. While she was beautiful and intelligent she wasn’t at the top of her field, she was a stay-at-home mom of three, dedicated to her family rather than a career. The cross was the right way up too.

_“Maybe that’s it.” Bones had said with a spark of genius. “It’s like a Madonna-Whore thing.”_

_Jim’s already decided they’re looking for a guy, probably in a committed relationship but maybe he’s insecure. Maybe he knows his girlfriend is playing away. Maybe he’s been cheated on in the past. What the Madonna-Whore Complex has to do with that Jim isn’t sure._

_“I don’t follow.” Jim had replied._

_“He sleeps with them.” Bones had explained. “It’s a God thing, he tries to tempt them, maybe he sees the engagement ring, takes it upon himself to see if they’re worthy of marriage.”_

_“I don’t see where Aurelian fits into this.” Jim had huffed, frowning._

_“She wouldn’t sleep with him.” Bones had says. “She was the Madonna, that’s why her cross was the right way. He’s the veritable serpent and she wouldn’t be his Eve.”_

_“But if he slept with them there would have to be a trace, a trace of spunk, a fucking stray pube for Christ’s sake.” Jim had shaken his head, this didn’t make any sense._

_“We’ve established he knows what he’s doing.” Bones had shrugged._

_“So the cross is definitely a religious thing then, rather than a demonic or pagan sort of thing?” But Bones had just shrugged, never liked to get too set in an idea before he had an office full of proof._

_“But she doesn’t fit the high powered woman thing – what power would he have gained, she wasn’t some powerhouse woman, she was just a normal person.” Jim had questioned._

_“Maybe it’s because of who she is to you; it’d only be natural for him to be following the case. Why would he pass up the opportunity of baiting you like this?” Bones had sighed._

Now it was a woman identified as Carol Marcus. A leading weapons developer for the US Navy, engaged to an engineer at NASA. Beautiful and cold on a stainless steel table, an upturned cross carved into her cleavage.

“Do you think he works in pathology, the steel table, it’s like a coroner’s table?” Jim says, kissing Bones’ cheek as he steps onto the crime scene. Jim is an FBI special agent; this is something he should have realised with the first body. Bones reaches back for another kiss. They’re not usually so unprofessional but after Aurelian Jim takes a special effort to make sure Bones knows he loves him. Bones, his forensic pathologist boyfriend who took a job with the CSI team to work more closely with Jim.

“I guess, it’d explain how he can keep the scenes so spotless.” Bones nods. “Because there ain’t a single thing to pick up from this one either.”

“Who is this guy, Bones?” Jim sighs. “How do we stop him? These girls walk into a quiet bar, no one can tell us who they leave with and then they end up dead on a fucking slab. Aurelian left the hotel room, went down to ask the bartender for a second glass for their champagne. If they’d have phoned room service she’d still be alive. How can he get so fucking lucky?” Jim demands.

“Jim.” Bones says gently. “I  _know_  this is difficult.”

“Who is he?” Jim whispers weakly.

“You’ll work it out.” Bones says.

…

Jim’s not sure that he will. But something changes on the seventh month. Jim stays up all night on February 4th looking up each woman all over again, every scrap of information he can find about them. It can’t be random, even if it’s just one of these girls, they’re the starting point.

Jocelyn. She’s the gateway. It just makes the most sense. She’s the match that lit the fire. But why? Is it her boyfriend? They questioned Clay Treadway for days. The guy is an asshole sure but he’s an innocent asshole. Maybe the guy’s Georgian. Jim scoffs, maybe he should send Bones home to ask around his home State, maybe that old Mrs Briscoe at the end of their street is hiding all the answers under that ludicrous hat she wears. He comes across a photo in a local newspaper; it’s from seventeen years ago. An announcement of engagement in The Peach Tree Gazette, Bones is from Peach Tree.

_Oh._

Jim’s heart simultaneously sinks and begins to race.

_Sweethearts Jocelyn Darnell and Leonard McCoy are thrilled to announce their engagement and cordially invite family and friends to their wedding on August 4 th._

Jim closes the tab. Deletes his search history for the last four hours or so and opens the window - gripping the frame as he tries to heave in a breath. Bones is meant to be at the lab. Like he was the night Jocelyn was murdered. And Christine. But Bones was at home the night Nyota was murdered. Jim’s being ridiculous.

But why wouldn’t Bones say he knew Jocelyn. And not just  _knew_  but was planning on  _marrying_ her. Maybe because Jim would have jumped to this conclusion. Bones just didn’t want to add his name to the pot. To make Jim question him. Bones wouldn’t have killed Aurelian. He couldn’t have – he loved her like a sister. He was in bed with Jim that night.

Jim picks up his phone. It’s 01:49, but Bones does these night shifts every so often. They usually fall at the start of the month, they always have. That’s not a reason to pin murder on a man.

“Bones?” Jim asks tentatively.

“What are you doin’ up, baby?” Bones says, voice stilted, like he’s paused whatever he’s doing.

“Baby?” Jim questions.

“’s just a pet name, Jim.” He says. “’m tired.”

“Could you come home?” Jim says, intoning his voice with vulnerability. The women’s times of death are all placed between two and five. Not that it matters because Bones is at the lab but it’s a point worth noting.

“I’m at the lab ‘til eight Jim.” Bones says, he sounds distant. Jim doesn’t know if he’s going to cry or be sick.

“He’s here.” Jim lies.

“Who’s there?” Bones asks.

“Him. Our Madonna-Whore killer. He’s in the house.” Jim lies, not needing to try too hard to sound breathless.

“Don’t be silly, of course he ain’t.” Bones says, not sounding nearly as worried as he should.

“Yes he is.” Jim insists.

“Then phone 911, I’ll be home as quick as I can. Lock yourself in the bedroom; you’ve got your gun.” Bones says.

“No, Bones don’t-” But he cuts the connection. Jim tries to redial but Bones doesn’t answer. Jim doesn’t know what to do, he can’t just call Pike and say ‘hey Bones is the killer but I don’t know where he is’. He rings Bones’ office phone but it goes to the answer machine - because Bones isn’t in the office because he’s out murdering someone. Jim does get his gun and heads down stairs, begins to get dressed. Where would Bones go? What warehouse holds some significance?

Jim is distracted by police sirens, the blue light shining into his kitchen window and their familiar screech.

“Jim?” It’s Pike, he’s at the back door, looking at Jim in a really really confused way.

“Chris?” Jim says opening the door.

“Leonard called, said you thought our man was here? You alright?” Pike asks.

“Bones called you? Is he here?” Jim questions, relief starting to sweep over him.

“No, he was out of the office, he wanted to head back to the last crime scene, try and get back in the headspace for it.” Pike says.

“Can you GPS him from your phone?” Jim demands frantically.

“Jim, I don’t-”

“Please, Chris!”

“Yes!” Chris nods, handing Jim his phone. Jim find the app, types in Bones’ ID number.

“You need to get me to Guerrero Park. There’s a warehouse on the corner of 28th.” Jim says to the cop driving the squad car. “Now!”

When they get to the warehouse there is a woman tied down to a stainless steel table. She’s alive, untouched. Bones cell phone and a note is tapped to her sternum.

_Are you my Madonna, James, or my whore?_


	2. Take My Bones (To Make Your Bread)

…

“Jim.” Pikes voice is terse on the other end of the line. “I think I need you down here.”

“You think?” Jim asks. “What’s up?”

“There’s a note attached to the body.” Pike says and Jim’s stomach gives an answering lurch. “It’s addressed to you.”

“You think it’s Bones?” Jim questions, voice without intonation. He feels numb but his senses are pricked now, he’s in fight or flight. His proverbial hackles are raised.

“He signed the note.” Chris confirms, an apology ringing clear in his voice. “I’ve sent two officers to escort you to the scene; we’ll have to set up a protection plan for you.” Jim just nods, murmurs his goodbye and disconnects.

Disconnecting so quickly though meant he had absolutely no idea what he was facing when he slipped under the yellow tape. It’s an old warehouse, just like last time but the body on the stainless steel table isn’t that of a woman. It looks like Jim, blonde hair, blue eyes, even down to the height and weight.

“A threat?” Jim hypothesises.

“I don’t know.” Pike shrugs.

“It’s been three years, Chris, why now?” Jim questions, he tries not to let his voice tremble. Jim catalogues everything about the body. A lot has changed in Bones’ approach. The body is strapped to the bed, traces of semen still inside it. The throat has been slit, eyes left open. There is a red egg-shaped paperweight on the victim’s sternum holding down the note. Other than that the body is untouched.

“What’s the date?” Jim turns to Pike. “The date will be important.”

“July 22nd.” Pike replies.

“Nothing I can think of to do with us. What’s with the egg?” Jim wonders.

“I don’t know, Jim.” Pike says. “Red, blood, love. If this is a V for vendetta sort of thing…”

“Mary Magdalene.” Jim says, realisation dawning. “The whore.”

“And the egg?”

“Um.” And Jim’s mind is racing, trying to think back to that Biblical theology module he took as a freshman. “Easter, when Jesus rose from the tomb, she goes to the Pharisees, or the Emperor or something, he says he won’t believe her until the egg in her hand turns red, then it does. Another miracle of the New Testament.” Jim scoffs. “What’s the note say?”

“It’s a poem.” Pike says, slipping it out from under the paper weight.

“Blake.” Jim says glancing at the stanza written in Bones’ beautiful scrawl.

_And the gates of this Chapel were shut,_   
_And ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door;_   
_So I turned to the Garden of Love_   
_That so many sweet flowers bore._

-       _yours eternally, Bones_

“And I saw it was filled with graves, and tombstones where flowers should be; and Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, and binding with briars my joys and desires.” Jim finishes. “It’s a clue, like a call and answer. The next body... it’ll be in a graveyard.”

“How can you know that?” Pike questions.

“Because that’s what this is about, unfinished business, that’s why he’s only given the first stanza. He wants me Chris, it’s not something I revel in but it’s true. It’s why the body on that table is someone my own mother could mistake me for. The bodies will come quicker this time though. They might already be dead.” Jim says grimly.

“ _Jesus_.” Pike sighs. “What’s with all the religious shit?”

“The Madonna-Whore thing still, maybe. Um, if Jocelyn is the Jezebel figure, you know the first whore of the Bible, and ah, the second wave starts with Mary Magdalene. I’m the Madonna, maybe? They’re both Mary’s, maybe that’s why they look like me. To show me that I’m still set apart in some way – I don’t know.” Jim shrugs. “But we’ll find the next body in a graveyard. Maybe one close to the house?”

“We’ll keep you safe, Jim.” Pike assures, taking him by the shoulder. “I promise you that.”

“It’s not me I’m worried for.” Jim sighs, looking at the dead man on the table. “You just make sure his face is in every shop window of every street. He can’t go unnoticed forever.”

…

Jim hates being right. Especially when being right means he’s faced with another body on a slab in the harsh summer light, trying to keep the flies away before the body starts to stink. It’s only a week later, so Jim was right that they’re going to come thick and fast too.

Exactly the same conditions, slit throat, anal penetration some time shortly before the time of death, but no signs of a struggle. Seduce and kill, like a black fucking widow. The body bears a striking resemblance to Jim. There’s a note – under a red egg-shaped orb.

“Find out where these are sold, get me an address.” Jim says to one of the CSI Level 1s. “What does the note say?”

“It’s a Milton sonnet, number nineteen.” She replies.

_When I consider how my light is spent,  
_ _E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,  
_ _And that one Talent which is death to hide,  
_ _Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent_

-       _yours eternally, Bones_

“It’s a poem where Milton worries that if he’s blind he won’t be able to serve God.” She explains. “Maybe he’s suggesting that this is the only way he knows how to serve you without your guidance.”

“I though the poems were clues. Is there a place in the rest of the poem? Anything of significance?” He asks.

“Um, it’s just about trying to find light. Maybe a place of literal light.” She shrugs. “Maybe somewhere of revelation?”

“What’s your name?” Jim asks.

“Gaila.” She introduces, taking off her latex gloves to shake his hand. “Fibre analysis.” She adds.

“Jim.” He nods. “And thanks.”

“The observatory in the Marina District.” Jim explains to Pike, recounting what Gaila has told him. “Or the planetarium by Lake Merced. I’m betting on the planetarium if this is about serving me, I wanted to go into space when I was a kid.”

“We’ll get a team over there.” Pike says.

“I’ll see if I draw up a list of important places, places he might be staying. Places he might use in the future.” Jim says despondently.

After work he heads to a small bar on the fringes of the Castro. He looks at all the blondes around him, looks at the ones that are particularly similar and wonder if they’ll end up on Bones’ steel table. It makes his stomach roil to think a man he once loved could do this. With those comforting hazel eyes and that honey sweet drawl. How can so much menace come from that?

“You should let me buy you another.”

Jim’s world tilts, his heart races and he doesn’t want to turn around. Doesn’t want to move. His fight or flight isn’t working because his brain has just suddenly short circuited. He thinks about broad hands on his body, this about plush lips against his throat. A slit throat. Blood.

He’s attacked by visions he’s only ever seen in his nightmares. The ones that haunted him for the first year or so that Bones had disappeared. His family with upturned crosses on their chest and him, on his knees before Bones, who was God and Lucifer all wrapped into one and smiling down at him.

“ _Oh_.” Bones says, he’s so used to watching for look-alikes that he’d forgotten about finding the real thing. He smiles. It’s beautiful and grotesque and Jim wants to slap him.

“I’m drinking Scotch.” He says instead. So Bones pulls up the chair beside Jim’s orders a Scotch on the rocks and a Bourbon neat, an easy smile pulling at the dimples of his cheeks. This could be an ordinary date, this could be them three years ago having a drink after work. But it isn’t.

“How’ve you been?” Bones says, dashing any illusion of anonymity.

“Not great.” Jim admits. “I was in love and then my lover turned into a murderer and left me.”

“I had to leave.” Bones counters, setting his hand on Jim’s thigh. It’s a cool, familiar weight and Jim wants to lean into it. “But I’m back now.”

“Killing again, too.” Jim adds.

“I had to get your attention.” Bones’ smile turns into a smirk, or a leer maybe. “Had to let you know I was thinking of you.”

“Is there going to be another body?” Jim asks.

“No. Not if you play nice.” Bones admits.

“Three, like the trinity? Like the three Mary’s?” Jim wonders.

“Who would you be, Jim?” Bones counters. “Christ? The saviour? Or would you be Magdalene?”

“Aren’t you Christ in all of this? Seducing those women, the guys, getting them into bed with you. You killed my sister in law.” Jim accuses.

“Didn’t sleep with her though.” Bones counters.

“Her cross wasn’t upturned.” Jim remembers. “You want me to be your Eve, Bones?”

“I want you to be my everything.” Bones nods. “I’ve missed you so much, darlin’.”

“Don’t call me darling, not anymore.” Jim shakes his head.

“James.” Bones corrects himself, it sounds like a prayer of worship, reverent and adoring. “Let me take you home?”

“I can’t, Bones.” Jim shakes his head. “You killed people. I can’t just forget that, no matter how much I’d like to.”

“We could run. Start afresh. Europe, Asia, Africa… it doesn’t matter. I’d give you the world.” Bones promises.

“You’re not God.” Jim says and Bones frowns.

“I know.” He says softly. “Just Bones.” He smiles. “Your bones.”

“You manipulative son of a bitch.” Jim hisses, tears filling his eyes.

“Let me take you home.” Bones repeats.

Jim wants to say no, but he can’t. He gets in Bones’ car, pulls up at the old front door of the house they once shared. Whoever lives there now is conveniently out – or dead, Jim thinks – they have surveillance on this house though. If Bones was living here they’d know. Jim has spotted the surveillance van opposite the house, he prays they haven’t fallen asleep or something equally ridiculous.

“You're nervous, Jim." Bones says. "You don't have to be." 

"If I sleep with you are you going to kill me?" JIm counters. 

"No." Bones states. "I'm not going to kill you at all." 

"Unless I call the cops." Jim says. 

"Then the tables might shift slightly." Bones nods. 

Jim starts to unbutton his shirt before he loses his nerve. He doesn't know how to get the surveillance team out of their van and into the house but surely they'll have the good sense to bust down the door after seeing a cop being led into the house by the serial killer they've been searching for for years. Bones helps him slide the shirt off his shoulders, bending forward to place a kiss on Jim's cheek. They're in the sitting room, the light is dim but if you were watching you'd be able to see them through the window. Bones runs his finger tips reverently over Jim's ribs. Let's his hands run down Jim's back, taking the gun out of his waist band and setting it on the table.

"You could have shot me." Bones states.

"No I couldn't have." Jim admits. It could be a declaration of love, even though Jim means it as an admission of his failings.

The sound of Pike's shouts are a welcome relief. The intimate silence of the room is decimated within seconds, completely torn down and destroyed. Bones looks livid, the guns of the swat team pointed at him. Pike reads him his rights and Jim listens with a detached sort of loss. But it's a release too. Jim tries to slip back into his shirt and ignore Bones' look of utter betrayal. Has he cemented his position as Eve? Jim wonders. Bones swears gently when the cuffs are locked around his wrists.   
  
"If I get out." Bones says softly, and the room falls silent. "They'll never find your body." 

"Well then we'll make sure that never happens." Pike states, warning and threat and loathing clear as day in his voice. He hates Bones, for what he's done, for being able to do it right under their noses, for making Jim afraid of his own shadow. "You'll never get out." 

"We'll see." He smiles gently, looking straight at Jim. "We'll see."   
 


End file.
